Page 37 of Cockpit
“It must be a slow news day for the Gazette to run a front-page article about the hometown hero rescuing damsels in distress, don’t ya think? It’s about time something other than the damn Harvest Festival has graced its cover. It isn’t as if they need to advertise. The whole town shows up, regardless.”
“It says the source was anonymous. That wouldn’t be your middle name would it?”
“Rissa Anonymous Patel.” Her laugh is immediate. “Has a nice ring to it, and it would be cool-ass initials, but nope, not it.”
“Rissa,” I say, trying to be serious, “what are you trying to accomplish?” And why are you trying to help me?
“Did you notice the comments online? It sure seems like local-boy Grayson Malone is getting all kinds of love from the people of Sunnyville.”
“Great. Good for him.” I sit and start scrolling through the comments. One after another. Praise heaped upon praise.
“It’s almost as if they’ve all been waiting to pay tribute to him for the other rescue he won’t talk about, so everyone is heaping it on now as a surrogate.”
“You’re sneaky.” And I damn well underestimated Rissa, mom of three.
“If it were to be known that Grayson was one of the top twenty in our contest, I’d think this would be the perfect time to rally support around him for the vote next week.”
I fight my grin as if I don’t agree with her, when she’s actually goddamn brilliant. So why do I hesitate? Maybe because I don’t want to reinforce Grayson’s belief that I’m a manipulative bitch. This one stunt confirmed everything I’ve tried to tell him I’m not.
But since when do I care what other people think of me?
Since I need him in order to be successful at my job in Rissa’s eyes. The same Rissa who is trying to help, but who might just have undermined me, nonetheless.
Grayson’s eyes flash in my mind. The disdain. The distrust. The intensity.
“Where are you going with this?”
“Do you still think he’s the one who can make a face for this contest?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Then don’t question the means, just worry about what’s going to happen when he says yes.”
“Dare I ask what else you have up your sleeve?”
“It’s hot out today. I’m wearing a tank top, so how could anything be up my sleeve?”
“Rissa . . .” I laugh.
“Let’s just say that every hero needs a celebration. Get your party dress ready.”
“Sidney Thorton, how may I help you?”
“This has got to stop.”
“Excuse me? Who is this?” I draw eyes from some of the staff as I step into the conference room and shut the door behind me. They’re still leery of me, and I’m sure my answering the phone with the panicked annoyance like I just did isn’t going to do me any favors.
“The man you’re putting articles in the newspaper about to convince him to participate in your silly contest.” Irritation mixed with impatience rakes through his voice.
“It’s hard to catch your attention. Should I gather it’s working now?” I bite the bullet and take ownership of Rissa’s tactics with little guilt. He hadn’t returned a single one of my calls, texts, or emails, and then Rissa plants a story, and voila, he calls. I’ll take progress any way I can at this point, even if it’s underhanded and makes me feel a tad slimy.
His sigh is heavy. “It worked the first time. There was no need to do today’s article as well.”
Today’s article? There’s another one? What am I missing? I scramble to log into my laptop, but it has to power up. “What did I do now?”
“Don’t be coy.”
Outside the conference room glass, Rissa is holding her fist to her mouth and fighting back a laugh. Dear God, I’m scared to know what she did this time.
